A throne bathed in blood and built for a King
by PureLightHealer
Summary: The throne room. Where else? It's been months since he's seen her but it feels like years and each day has left its mark on his face, on his body. She is still as beautiful as if even Time itself dares not touch her; because she is Morgana Le Fay...
1. Chapter 1

******So this is an old story that I started months ago but somehow never got around to finishing. :P I'm finishing it up now, it's going to be pretty short. Just a one-shot. Maybe 2-3 chapters. This is the first one. Enjoy! And if you do, please leave a comment/review also! :) **

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**A throne bathed in blood and built for a King**

He meets her in the throne room. _Where else? _

It's been months since he's seen her but it feels like years and each day has left its mark on his face, on his body. His shoulders are stronger, stiffer, made rigid by a life that anticipates only hardship. His features are older, wiser, have taken on the shape of he who will be remembered as Camelot's King; _King Arthur_.

Time has been less cruel with her and she is still as beautiful as she was then, if not more so. As though even Time itself dares not touch her; because she is _Morgana Le Fay_. Because nothing reaches her anymore. Not time, not the little intricacies of life, not a kind word, nor a scathing rebuke.

"Arthur Pendragon!"

Her voice is crystal clear and just as sharp. He approaches warily, sword wavering in his hand, beginning to point downwards. Hers is still held up proudly. Fiercely.

"Morgana…." He acknowledges, his voice barely above a whisper, as though it's taken all of his strength to utter that name. "Why are you here…" he says, more to himself than to her.

"Why for the same reasons you are, naturally."

Arthur glances around the room warily. It is empty, save for one throne which stands at the center of the room. An empty, lonely throne. "Merlin cast a Disjunction spell on this room. You can't use magic in here. But surely you knew that?"

Morgana smiles wryly. "Ah, Merlin… Such a…. Resourceful man, is he not? Oh, pardon me, I mean _warlock_ because he's hardly _just a man_, isn't that right, Arthur? A being of magic just as myself and yet you trusted him!" She says, her words aimed to hurt just as her sword is aimed to kill.

"You and Merlin are as different as Night and Day" Arthur replies bitterly.

"Is that what he tells you?"

"I see it for myself, Morgana… You are nothing alike."

She scoffs. "How is Merlin? Court advisor now, is he not? What a step up from being your manservant… Though I'd suggest you keep him as Court chemist, his knowledge of poisons _is _rather extensive…" She pauses, to see if Arthur will take the bait.

He does, flinching slightly at her words. If there's one thing she knows well, it's how to wield that sharp tongue of hers. But she's right, because she summons the one betrayal that stains Merlin's reputation, the memory that still sends a cold shiver down his spine when he thinks back to it. _Maybe, maybe if it had not happened… Maybe if he had been present to stop_ – But it's no use. What's done is done and she insures he will feel this guilt until the end of his days.

"You are fighting for something that does not belong to you, Morgana…" he says, though deep down inside he still wonders. But it doesn't matter because he's been trained to say those words, had them repeated by those loyal to him enough times to make his ears bleed.

"Come now, we both know that isn't true… Besides, if you weren't such a damned nuisance, maybe I could let you live."

"Maybe?" he scoffs. "You can barely guarantee that… What like when we'd fight as children and you'd take away everything I had if you won?"

And it's true. She remembers just as well as he does. She nods. "So then, it comes to this, does it not, dear brother?"

He doesn't reply. But she demands an answer, slashes her sword towards him, forcing him to parry.

Just like old times. She; always first to strike, to initiate. He; always first to defend. Though it's different because their pride was at stake then, his or hers, but now it is _Camelot_. But it is more than the Kingdom they fight for; it is to be accepted, as they are, with their sinful faults or their saintly virtues. By the people, but more importantly, by each other. And yet as each blow forces him back and her eyes grow darker in a lust for blood, he realizes he will never find acceptance in her eyes, nor she in his.

"Your footwork is getting clumsy, Morgana" he says, a remnant of his former banter coming through as he parries her blows.

"Pity, I was only taught by the best" she retorts quickly.

And he wants to smile, because it looks as though she might and _God knows_, he would do anything to see that again.

But the moment is shattered just as quickly as it occurs when a knight runs in, wild-eyed, crossbow in hand.

"Stay back, milord!" he yells, voice cracking nervously at the sight of her, the famed Morgan LeFay, illegitimate daughter to a murdered King, half-sister to a dethroned brother; A Queen of cruelty and magic… _And Darkness_.

Arthur stares at the man who's wearing Camelot's colours, standing proudly with only his dilated pupils to betray his fear. "Don't be an idiot, boy! Stand down! You know what she is capable of!" Arthur hisses, hearing Morgana's lilting laughter ringing in his ears.

But the youth has been brought up on tales of grandeur, of battles and glory, where loyalty and honour always prevail. _Where Good always trumps Evil_. "I will not stand down, my King! I will fight until the end! I am willing to die for-"

But just then, something whizzes through the air and knocks the breath from his lungs, causing him to stagger back. Arthur's eyes widen as they flicker to his chest, to the green-hilted dagger impaled in it.

"You said you were willing to die, now's your chance to prove it." Morgana mutters, but Arthur doesn't hear her as he buckles under the strain of the young soldier who's fallen against him. "Hold on, dammit. Just stay calm!" He orders.

"It's too late, Arthur, the dagger's been dipped in poison", Morgana calls out nonchalantly, fingering the empty pocket in the dagger belt slung around her waist.

Arthur gapes at her and the man groans weakly. The light is fading from his eyes and the confident bravado with which he entered the room is gone also.

_Because they didn't speak of this in the legends. Didn't mention the excruciating pain as muscles spasmed and organs failed, or the mind-numbing panic of a man approaching his own mortality. _

"You fool! Why did you have to step between us?" Arthur reprimands in a voice filled with sorrow as the boy drops to the ground, still slumped against his King.

And with his dying breath, he decides that a noble death is not all it's cracked up to be.

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**I will try to upload the second chapter in a couple of days. :) Please let me know if you enjoyed the story/or whatever general comments you may have!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long time it's taken for me to upload the rest of this story! I actually had it finished, but was in the mood to write for other stories, so never got around to editing until now... Thank you for those who have followed it so far, and especially to those who take the time to comment :)**

**xx ~ PureLightHealer**

~ continued ~

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_And with his dying breath, he decides that a noble death is not all it's cracked up to be._

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A grim silence fills the room as one more life is extinguished between them. Morgana is unconcerned, testing the weight of the sword in her hands as she looks over at Arthur, whose shoulders are bowed as though this death is another of the many that will haunt him.

"This can't go on, Morgana. Give me back what is rightfully mine and I will show you mercy."

She laughs. The sound sends a chill down his spine, so out of place in this scene, in this room that's filled with the death of one too young. "I don't want your mercy, Pendragon, I want what is mine!"

"When did you become so cruel…."

"This is about your little knight, is it not? Don't worry," she drawls, "I'm sure there are plenty more where he came from…"

But he ignores her twisted humour. "Life is meaningless to you! Expendable!" He accuses, remembering why he's here, why they're both here. "He wasn't just a pawn in your chess game, Morgana."

"_Our_ chess-game, Arthur" she corrects sternly.

Arthur shakes his head, staring down at the blood on his hands from the dead man's wound. He feels the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, as any leader feels when one under his command is lost. But not as any leader; because this is _Arthur Pendragon_, the King who would risk his life to protect even the lowliest of servants in his court.

"He was young, Morgana, just a boy…" he says, his voice filled with regret.

"So were we." She replies, her tone hard.

"You chose your path!" Arthur yells, wringing his hands, which are smeared with the solder's blood.

"Did I choose the nightmares that disquiet my sleep every night?" She demands, eyes narrowing as she closes in on him, sword pointed as though ready to pierce his chest. "Did I choose to have a tyrant king for a father, a _liar_! A despot who wouldn't so much as acknowledge his illegitimate daughter though I lived under his roof night and day for 15 years? Or is it perhaps the magic that seeps through my veins that you assume I chose?"

"Uther made mistakes, I don't deny it! But he cared for you as his own, Morgana!"

"As his own? I _was_ his own! He cared only for himself! Had he known what I was, he would have had me executed in his hatred for magic."

Arthur bats her sword away with his, keeping the distance between them. "Kill before you are killed?"

"That is our way, Pendragon".

"NO! This is _your_ way, Morgana! Destroy everything around you, hide behind the bodies of the men you've killed! Because you're afraid!"

She laughs, but it is forced. "You're a fool if you believe that, Arthur Pendragon! There is _nothing_ that I fear." She declares, tossing her head back.

"So afraid of what you don't understand, so blinded by your bitterness… You're just like father." He growls, missing the way her eyes flare at those words, at the comparison she despises more than any insult. She lunges at him in a fit of rage and he lets out a battle cry and sidesteps her, furiously thrusting his sword in the space his body has just left and hers has just occupied_. It's a classic soldier's move, only this isn't a soldier's game_. A small gasp escapes her lips and he turns his head as he finds his footing and retracts his weapon – to find it firmly lodged in her abdomen. As his anger dissipates, his eyes widen for a second time that day, filled with a horror and denial unmatched by any he's ever felt before. It's her turn to slump against him now and he catches her with shaking hands, lowering her to the cold, hard ground that her blood has already begun to taint.

"So then, it comes to this, does it not, dear brother?" She says again, only this time her voice comes out in fits and starts, interrupted by the shallow breathing which accompanies death.

And victory has never tasted more bitter in his mouth, nor heavier in his arms.

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- To be continued... -


	3. Chapter 3

**A short, final chapter. Thank you to all those who read the story and who've followed it so far. Please take the time to leave a comment if you'd like! xx ~ PLH.**

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_And victory has never tasted more bitter in his mouth, nor heavier in his arms_.

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"I loved you" he whispers, pushing away a limp strand of hair that falls over her cheek. "I would have died for you…" He trails off, voice shaking. And she has never been more beautiful than she is at this moment, her eyes shining with a million regrets, a million truths finally unveiled. That she can no longer hide. Finally cracking through that proud, immotile wall of hers. Lips that have already begun to pale, part as though she wants to respond. As though even now, she has a caustic reply ready for him. And maybe she would offer it if her voice wasn't drowned by the blood in her throat.

But what he doesn't know is that she's foreseen all this.

Because the dreams of a Seer do not discriminate between possible futures. And so she knew this would be their ending, from the moment he enters this fateful, this _damned _throne room they were born to share, born to war over, born to hate.

She's foreseen it all, from the wary way he beholds her, from the soldier, who's death adds one last tally to the number of lives she's taken; the death of a youth who's loss screams a final warning to her, foreboding her own death too soon, too sudden for this world in which she's never quite belonged. From Arthur's tears, which leave cold trails as they slide down over her skin.

_He's always been a boy more than a man, a prince more than a king_, she muses. And yet maybe these tears he's learned to shed are where his strength lies. Where her strength failed her. She blinks drowsily, allotting the strength in her body not to her fading life, but to her pride, to keep from revealing exactly how small she feels at this moment.

It's all so wrong but then it takes more than one moment to bring down what's taken years to build.

And finally, finally she lets go.

Lets go of the throne that stands tall and unyielding, built out of an iron that will last long after they have all faded away and been forgotten. Lets go of her iron pride that's brought her nothing more than wrath and loneliness. Let's go of her consuming will for vengeance but then also of her desperate need to hold on to this life.

And finally, finally one tear forms, a single tear that falls just as her body stills, just as her eyes lose that final flicker of light.

And it will be what he remembers best of this moment. His sorrow will numb out the intricate details of all that has happened on this day, but he will remember the tear. And he will hope it is a sign that she finally extricated herself from this world that dealt her too much, too soon. He will hope that somewhere, somehow, she has found tranquility.

_Somewhere, Somehow…_


End file.
